


spill jack and coke in my collar

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't think I've actually ever been drunk before." </p><p>"I stand corrected," Jason says. "<i>That's</i> the saddest thing I've ever heard."</p>
            </blockquote>





	spill jack and coke in my collar

**Author's Note:**

> For likewinning, who wanted drunkfic.

Tim’s not on patrol duty tonight, but when his police scanners go off, describing Jason’s exact height and weight at a bar near his apartment his ears perk up and before they can finish listing off the multiple charges of battery and assault, Tim’s pulled on his hoodie and is out the door. 

Stuffing his hands into the pocket and pulling the hood up to block out the chilly March winds, Tim goes through the possibilities in his head as he briskly walks down the sidewalk. He ticks off the dates in his head, knows Jason has a tendency to get drunk and violent on certain days out of the year: his birthday, the day he died, the day he came _back_ , and usually following up anytime he has to work with Bruce for an extended period. Tim’s forehead wrinkles. It’s none of those dates and as far as he knows Bruce has been leaving Jason alone since the last disaster between the two of them, and it bugs him that he can’t figure out why Jason’s pulling this now. He’s not even a big drinker. He pretends to be sure, but that’s usually just to keep his cover as an all around badass, easier for the crooks and lowlifes to approach him in dive bars with low lighting and enough cigarette smoke in the air to give everyone black lungs. 

“Where’d he go?” 

Tim stops when he hears the cops around the corner, shouting and out of breath. 

“He was just -- aw, shit. You lost him?”

“I didn’t lose him! He just fuckin’ disappeared!”

“Drunk assholes don’t just disappear into thin air, shit for brains.”

“Maybe drunk assholes who take down a whole fuckin’ bar _can_ , Sarge.”

Something catches Tim’s attention, a faint little whir, the clink of metal, and his head whips around, catches the briefest flash of a smirk right before it fades into the shadows like the world’s creepiest cheshire cat. _Jason._

Quietly and swiftly, Tim evades the cops and sneaks down the alley unseen.

“Should’ve known you’d find me.”

Tim sees the spark of Jason’s lighter before he sees him, then he’s illuminated, leaning up against the brick, smirking around the cigarette in his mouth. There’s a cut right on his cheekbone and dried blood on his bottom lip, the beginnings of a bruise starting to turn colors on his jaw, someone else’s blood, Tim imagines, staining his jacket and the worn, grey t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. 

“I thought random violence wasn’t in your repertoire anymore,” Tim says, thinking about leaning against the brick opposite Jason, but he gets a good look at the grime and filth caked between the bricks and decides he’ll just stand, hands still shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. 

“That’s your problem,” Jason sneers, exhaling a cloud of smoke in Tim’s direction. “You think too much.”

It’s about as much of an answer as Tim expected. He waves the smoke away, ignoring Jason’s mocking laughter. He can tell by the defensive stance of Jason’s shoulders even as he stands there smoking, the wild, lit up expression in his eyes, that this isn’t a normal night for him. Talking or reasoning aren’t going to work, not tonight, so Tim shifts on his feet and tries another tactic. 

“You’re right,” he says and Jason eyes him suspiciously. “I think too much. Hell, I’m supposed to have the night off and I was at home skimming over cold cases and listening to the police scanner for fun.”

“Jesus,” Jason barks out a dry laugh, flicking the butt to the ground and grinding it into the cement with his boot. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, replacement.”

"I don't--" Tim starts, pausing to think if he should really be diverging this kind of information to Jason. 

"Spit it out, junior."

Tim makes a face at the name, turns his head up to the sky so he doesn't have to see Jason's face when he says it. "I don't think I've actually ever been drunk before." 

"I stand corrected," Jason says. " _That's_ the saddest thing I've ever heard." 

Tim wants to say _I somehow doubt that_ , but then Jason’s just walking off, leaving him standing there in the alley that smells like wet cat and hot garbage and Tim chews on the inside of his lip, trying to figure out what to do next when he hears Jason’s heavy footsteps come to a halt.

“You coming or not?” He calls from the sidewalk and Tim’s shoulders relax as he falls into a jog to catch up with him. 

 

***

 

“So you’ve really never been drunk.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I know it’s what you _said_ , but excuse me for finding it hard to believe. I had my first beer when I was like, nine.”

“Well, we didn’t --” Tim begins, but the look on Jason’s face has him stopping dead in his tracks.

“Yeah, I know, Private School,” Jason says wryly, only letting a little bitterness seep into his words, but Tim probably picks up on it better than anyone else, being on the receiving end of it nearly more than Bruce. “Didn’t exactly run in the same crowd, did we?”

Tim had meant to accompany Jason tonight to make sure he didn’t end up putting anyone else in the hospital, keep him calm or at least distracted as he works through whatever demons are haunting him this time, but suddenly he realizes probably anyone would be better at this than he would. He’s not exactly a people person and besides, all he ever seems to do is rile Jason up, a constant reminder of what he lost and how he can never get it back. They’re like an acid and an alkaline and whenever they get near each other, something usually blows up. 

“It’s not like I’ve never had a drink,” Tim says in an attempt to reel things back in to something manageable. 

“Champagne, right?” Jason smirks. It’s still awful and bitter, but at least his tone sounds a little less murderous. “Timothy Drake-Wayne, playboy genius. Right?”

Tim smiles a little, dragging a finger down the glass in front of him, wiping away the condensation. “I hate champagne. Wine’s not too bad, I guess.”

Jason snorts. “You ever had an actual beer, kid?”

“You’re three years older than me,” Tim points out. “And no. I haven’t. They never really appealed to me.”

Jason laughs and this time it’s real, not harsh and icy, making Tim want to cover his arms to keep from shivering. This time it kind of warms him up. “Not gonna lie, it tastes like ass,” Jason grins, tipping his own mug back. Tim’s fingers twitch in his lap when Jason takes too long to wipe away the foam gathered on his top lip. “But you get used to it after a while. Not bad to chase a shot with, either.” 

“We’re doing shots?” Tim hopes he doesn’t look like the nervous, stupid kid that he feels like as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but the way Jason’s mouth twists he figures he’s lost that particular battle.

“I won’t let you drown in your own puke,” Jason grins. “Promise.”

In a strange turn of events, Tim actually believes him.

 

***

 

“Oh god,” Tim rasps out, slamming the empty shot glass onto the bar top. “That was _awful._ Why does anyone do this? I think my esophagus is melting.”

Jason laughs and throws back his own shot, chasing it with his beer. “I told you to chase it,” He says, mouth shiny and wet when he sets the glass down, licking his lips.

Tim stares longer than he should. “I wanted to get the full experience.”

“Yeah, how’d that work out for you?”

“Terrible,” Tim laughs and leans against the bar on his elbows, hair falling in his face. He can already feel his face getting warm, the pleasant tingling beneath his skin that he’s felt once or twice before, not paying attention and sipping on too much wine as he chatted with Dick at one of Bruce’s parties. He never liked it much before, the way it made him feel too warm all over, made him loosen the knot in his tie and giggle at Dick’s jokes, made him want to ask Dick things he’d _never_ ask him if he was in full control. 

But with Jason, Tim doesn’t feel like he has to worry so much -- which is probably worrying in its own sense, but Tim kind of accepted a long time ago that most things in his life now lean more toward the fucked up side of the spectrum and he’s made as much peace as he could with it. This thing he and Jason have, whatever messed up, unspoken understanding they seem to have reached at some point, it is what it is. Jason’s not trying to kill him anymore, so he’s not going to question it. 

“Thinking again,” Jason mutters, knocking into Tim with his shoulder. “Another shot.”

“No,” Tim groans. “I won’t survive it.”

Jason laughs and Tim turns his head a little to watch him, the way his eyes get even bluer and brighter, the shape of his mouth, the way he tilts his head back a little --

“And they call me the drama queen,” Jason grins, sliding a shot of tequila across the bar to him. “Drink up, sweetheart.”

Tim quickly downs the shot so he can blame the heat in his cheeks on the alcohol.

 

***

 

“I can _walk,_ ” Tim insists, pulling his elbow out of Jason’s grasp and standing straight up. He puts one foot in front of the other and commences to walk straight into a garbage can.

“You giggle,” Jason says, eyes twinkling with amusement as he pulls Tim off the ground. “Like a drunk sorority girl.”

Tim frowns and decides to forfeit his right as a walking, upright person, leaning against Jason as they walk across the street to his safe house. “M’not a girl.” 

“Make a pretty one, though,” Jason says, slurring a little as he flips off a car that honks at them. “Lil bit of lipstick, mascara. Put some shiny clips in your hair. Could totally pull it off.”

“I was a nurse once,” Tim blurts out and giggles into Jason’s shoulder. “Shaved my legs and everything.”

“Yeah?” Jason asks, dragging Tim up the stairs with him. “Once upon a time I made a career out of wearing little green panties.”

Tim giggles. “Panties.”

“S’what they were, right?” Jason grins, propping Tim up against the wall to dig around in his pockets for his key. 

Tim nods, lazy eyes following Jason’s hands, getting lost somewhere around Jason’s hips. “So tiny. Bet...bet they wouldn’t fit now.”

Jason’s eyes flick up to Tim’s and they stay like that for twenty heartbeats, just pinning him there against the brick wall with this dark, intense gaze until Tim wants to squirm or throw up or say something stupid to make Jason hit him, until finally some woman down the street starts yelling at her kids to shut up and Jason looks away, shoving his key into the lock and throwing the door open. 

“Sit down,” he says, motioning to the futon in the middle of the room. He obviously feels like Tim can make it across the room by himself as he’s untangled himself from Tim and walked into the kitchen, but Tim’s not so sure, walking on unsteady Bambi legs as the room spins beneath his feet. 

Finally he makes it and curls up on his side, pressing his face into a throw pillow. He never figured Jason would be the type of guy to have throw pillows and he giggles a little into it, hoping Jason doesn’t hear him. 

“Jesus,” Jason says when he comes back into the living room, sitting down on the other end of the futon. “You know I thought were fucking with me, at first. But this is really the first time you’ve ever been shitfaced, huh?”

“I”m not _shit-faced_ ,” Tim says, ignoring the way his tongue feels too big for his mouth and his words seem to meld together. “Just...just a little buzzed.”

Jason laughs and Tim stares again, at the stretch of Jason’s throat when his head tips back, the rise and fall of his adam’s apple, wonders what it would feel like against his mouth. 

“You gotta stop looking at me like that,” Jason growls and it’s just harsh enough to snap Tim out of his weird daydream and blink up at him, see the confusing expression on Jason’s face. His eyes are hard and dark and Tim just wants to make them bright again, make him laugh and smile and put his hands back on him again. 

“I like looking at you,” he says instead, because alcohol removes the filter to your brain and stupidly lets you say the first thing that pops into your head. Jason’s eyes get a little darker, but he doesn’t look away, and Tim keeps talking. “I always liked looking at you.”

Then Jason’s grabbing him by the waist and bruising Tim’s mouth with the hottest, hardest kiss he’s ever had, manhandling him into his lap when Tim moans into his mouth and gets his hands into Jason’s hair. He quickly tugs Tim’s hoodie off and slides his hands up the back of his shirt, kissing Tim until they have to come up for air, moving his mouth instead to the underside of his jaw, peppering his throat with wet, biting kisses, sucking on his neck until Tim digs his fingers into his shoulders, until he can see the blood vessels burst beneath his skin.

“ _God,_ ” Tim moans, tugging his own shirt off of his head. “Again. More.”

Jason looks at him with those fierce, dark eyes and twists his fingers in Tim’s hair, bringing him down for another rough, hungry kiss. There’s no finesse to it, just pure, raw _need_ , dragging Tim’s bottom lip through his teeth, fucking his tongue down his throat, and Tim rocks against him when his dick gets so hard he can’t stand it anymore. 

“Jason,” he says, gasping out his name when Jason’s teeth nip at his throat. “ _Jason._ ”

“Yeah?” Jason growls, rocking up against Tim all the same, matching the roll of his hips, fingertips digging into Tim’s ribs. 

“I want,” he says. His head’s a little fuzzy from all the alcohol and from Jason’s hands and Jason’s _mouth_ , and it’s hard to put into words exactly what it is he wants. “Can we…”

“You want this?” Jason asks against his neck, right beneath his ear. “You sure? I don’t usually, fuck, you’re so drunk --”

Tim fucking _growls_ at him. “Of all the times to have a goddamn moral compass, could you just fuckin’ stow it for tonight?”

And Jason just _laughs_ and shoves him down onto his back, pulling his shirt off over his head, fumbling with Tim’s jeans until he gets them open, yanks them down and ends up pulling TIm half the way with them, flinging them behind him once he finally gets them off. He only gets his own pants down to his ankles before Tim’s grabbing at him, pulling Jason between his legs, moaning obscenely as Jason’s dick grinds against his. 

“Fuck,” Jason groans, kicking his legs out to kick his jeans off the rest of the way and licks his way into Tim’s mouth, moving and rolling his hips against his, drawing sounds out of Tim he would’ve never imagined he’d make, slutty and needy, and so fucking hot Jason’s going to lose his mind. 

“You,” Tim says, hooking a thumb into the waistband of Jason’s boxer-briefs, tugging them half-way off his ass. “Want to feel _you_ , fuck--”

“Jesus, yes,” Jason mutters, leaning back to get his boxers off, and when he turns back to Tim he’s already made quick work of his own and he’s laying there, mouth slightly parted, just waiting for him, _watching_ him. Then Tim looks at him and says, “I’ve never done this before,” and Jason just breaks, kneeling between Tim’s legs and taking him in his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ Jason, _fuck_ ,” Tim shouts and Jason has to press his hips back against the futon to keep him there, swirls his tongue around the head of Tim’s dick and feels him shudder and shake beneath his hands, listens to the string of _fucks_ and _oh my god’s_ and filthy fucking noises that come out of his mouth. He likes him like this, completely unwound, coming apart at the seams with no filter, just letting shit happen, completely out of control. It’s so _not him_ and the feeling of possessiveness sneaks up on Jason, shaking him to his core, when he realizes he’s probably one of the few, if not the only person who’s see this side of him. 

It makes his pulse race faster, makes his dick harder, makes him take Tim a little bit deeper, relax his throat and reach behind Tim’s balls to press two fingers right _there_ , then Tim’s fucking screaming for him, screaming _his_ name, and Jason swallows the taste of him down until he’s a whimpering, broken mess, shaking and pulling at Jason’s hair. 

Jason crawls up to Tim and braces himself with one arm over him, kisses him rough and deep, rutting against Tim’s abs when he moans into his mouth, tasting himself on Jason’s tongue, and fuck, that’s _it._ Jason reaches between them and gets his hand on his dick, jerking off hard and fast as Tim sucks on his tongue, licks the taste of him out of his mouth, and he comes with a stuttery _f-fuck, Tim_ against his mouth, spilling all over Tim’s stomach, rutting through the slickness until he’s spent and collapses on top of him.

“Oh that’s gross,” Tim says when they stick together and Jason laughs weakly, mutters _fuckin’ princess_ as he gets up to find a washcloth and clean them both off. 

 

***

An hour and a couple of cups of coffee later, Tim’s finally sobered up. It’s a little awkward, but not really as awkward as he’d expected. Jason hasn’t pushed him out the window, so that’s a plus. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says to fill the silence and Jason just shrugs, adding more sugar to his. 

“Why,” Tim begins, biting his lip. He knows he’s treading on thin ice here, with everyone sober and still processing what just happened, but there’s probably never going to be a right time to ask, so he goes for it anyway. “Why were you fighting earlier?”

Jason looks up at him and Tim thinks he almost sees sadness in his eyes for the briefest moment before they turn cold and icy again. “You don’t remember?”

Tim just blinks at him curiously. “Remember what?”

Jason’s default smirks drops into something else. “You remember _everything._ Every date. Every fucking detail of every fucking thing. You trying to tell me you don’t remember the day I fucking shot you and left you to bleed out?” 

“Oh,” Tim says and to his credit, he doesn’t even wince. It happened so long ago, a different Jason, a different _him _, that most of the time it’s like it didn’t even happen. That’s probably messed up, but what isn’t.__

__“I remember,” Tim says, carefully. “I just don’t think about it.”_ _

__“Lucky you,” Jason mutters and he’s pulling out a bottle from beneath the sink, pouring it into his coffee._ _

__“I don’t think about it because it’s not important. Not anymore.” Tim takes a deep breath. He’s been trying to weigh the different outcomes of what Jason might do after his says what he wants to say next for the last hour and he still hasn’t figured it out, so he pretends he’s still drunk and just blurts it out, like he still has no filter. “I like you, Jason. That was the hottest sex I’ve ever _had_ and from the look on your face, I’m pretty sure you feel the same way. We understand each other, so don’t try and fuck this up with some self-deprecating bullshit, okay?”_ _

__Jason’s scowl slowly but surely slips back into a crooked grin that makes Tim’s heart beat a little faster. “You know, you’re kind of messed up?”_ _

__Tim grins. “You wouldn’t like me if I wasn’t.”_ _

__Jason doesn’t argue._ _


End file.
